"Up, up she wings; the motor sings;
I guide her at my pleasure.
High o'er the world Windjammer swings
To paths no soul can measure.
The sphere below
Shrinks as we go
To heights no gauge can measure.
"Next spasm," shouted the leader. "Rip it out!
"I maul the moon around the rink;
The stars I bowl and batter;
I put the sunball on the blink;
The sheeplike clouds I scatter.
It's bully fun
To see them run—
The curling clouds I shatter.
"I crumple up the hurricanes;
I flip the ticklish breezes;
I smash the hail to window-panes,
And roll the snow in cheeses.
I churn the air
Until the Bear
High in the heavens sneezes.
"Either Bear you choose, boys. Ursa Major or Ursa Minor. We'll go out and take a look at them presently. Now, all together!"
